


Whatever It Takes

by Calantha2001



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Episode Tag, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23269537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calantha2001/pseuds/Calantha2001
Summary: Post Solitudes. Spoilers for the movie and episodes up to season 1 Solitudes. Jack had a lot of healing to do before he was fit for duty in Tin Man. How'd that go?
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Whatever It Takes

**Author's Note:**

> Someone on the Spacemonkey Facebook page asked where was the love for Jack after he was injured so badly in Solitudes. I couldn't remember seeing any fanfic that addressed that, so here's my version of what happened after he got out of the hospital. I also filled in some blanks, how I envision some of the off-screen developments in team dynamics after the movie and early in the series.

Jenny paused as she approached the dairy case, the aisle blocked by a guy in an electric shopping cart. He was attempting to maneuver the chair so he could reach the milk from his seated position while not blocking the door to the case with his cart. Crutches stuck out of the left side of the basket, while his right foot rested on the opposite basket edge, his bare toes sticking out of a cast. His short brown hair, trim form, and perfect posture indicated military, though he wasn’t in uniform. This Safeway was close to Peterson Air Force Base, so she shouldn’t be surprised to see an airman on convalescent leave.

  
The guy reached up into the case but immediately dropped his arm with a soft gasp of pain. He sounded like… No, couldn’t be. Jenny stepped forward, around to his side. “Can I help you reach—” She blinked. Yup, it was. “Hi, Jack.” There was a touch of grey at his temples now, and the crease between his eyes and the grooves in his cheeks were a bit deeper, but it was definitely Jack O’Neill.

  
He’d hunched over slightly, arms held close to his chest, but looked up at the sound of her voice. His familiar warm brown eyes were clouded with pain but he quickly schooled his expression to one of polite curiosity. “Jenny. What are you doing here?”

  
She shifted her basket to the other arm, careful not to let the bottle of chardonnay crush the crackers or pears nestled at the bottom with the wheel of brie. “Some friends from college are in town. You remember the Sanchez sisters?’ He gave a vague nod. “We’re getting together at Sara’s tonight for a girls’ night in.”

  
As she spoke, she couldn’t help noticing the groceries in his cart – one banana, a tiny jar of peanut butter good for maybe three sandwiches, an even smaller jar of strawberry preserves, and a pint of orange juice. He’d been reaching high, where the quarts of milk were shelved, not for the gallons down below. Had he fallen on hard times, and this was all he could afford? He’d often joked that he had as many reprimands in his personnel file as citations. Had he finally been court-martialed and lost his pension? He shifted slightly, and the crutch on top slid a few inches to the side. She mentally smacked herself. Of course. He was thinking about the logistics of managing a sack of groceries while maneuvering on crutches.

  
Why was he here, fending for himself when he was clearly in so much pain? Then she remembered he had no family locally, not since the divorce. Maybe he’d been no better at moving on than Sara. She looked again at his cast. Not a single smudge or speck of dirt marred its pristine white surface. “How long have you been out of the hospital this time, Jack?”

  
He glanced at his watch. “About an hour.”

  
“Please tell me you didn’t drive with your left foot.” He had always taken great care with his wife and child, other than that one horrible, awful mistake, but regularly took hair-raising risks with himself. It was a wonder Sara hadn’t turned gray while married to him.

  
He shook his head. “Taxi.”

  
“And how are you planning to get home?”

  
He shrugged with one shoulder. “Call another cab when I get to checkout.”

  
Jenny glanced at her own watch, calculated how long before Sara was expecting her to arrive. “Let’s put these Lilliputian groceries back and get you adult-sized food. I’ll drive you home and help you put them away.”

  
“You don’t have to—“

  
“Shut up, Jack, and accept an offer of help graciously.” She smiled to take the sting from her words, a variation on phrases she’d said to him several times before.

  
“Yes, ma’am.” Also remembering their history, one side of his mouth quirked up.

  
Within a half hour she put his crutches and their groceries in the back seat of her car – he’d insisted on paying for hers – and drove the electric cart back into the store while he settled himself in the front seat. She started the engine and used the excuse of buckling her seatbelt to give him a close look. His head was tilted back against the headrest, eyes closed, a fine sheen of perspiration on his upper lip and temple.

  
“You’re overdue for pain meds.”

  
Without opening his eyes he patted his front left pocket, rattling pill bottles in a paper sack. “Needed a clear head for getting home.”

  
“Were you gone long this time?”

  
He tilted his head toward her as he pondered the question. “Long enough there might be new life forms in the fridge.”

  
She put the car in gear and headed out of the parking lot. “Address?”

  
She thought she remembered the way, but she’d only been to his house once, almost two years ago. Sara had found more of his stuff while spring cleaning. She’d waited until the weekend, when Jenny could accompany her, and they’d driven over together. But he hadn’t been home. An elderly, nosy neighbor had let them know he was still at work. Late afternoon on a Saturday. Same Jack, working crazy hours. Fortunately he’d used the same code for the garage door opener at his new place, so Sara put the box of his stuff with a note inside the garage, on the steps to the house, out of the way where he couldn’t accidentally drive over it. Jenny had kind of wanted to snoop in the house, but the neighbor was still watching them.

  
Jack rallied enough to warn her of upcoming turns but didn’t have the energy to chat. Jenny was content to let him rest.

  
Soon they pulled into the drive. The yard had been recently mowed, and the flower beds were weed-free. “Keys?” She held out her hand.

  
He started to reach for his front right pocket but let his hand fall to his lap. “Um. Yeah.” He stared at the house. “Hide-a-key. Rock in the hanging basket.”

  
She carried his grocery sack to the front door, rooted in the hanging basket of fuchsias – silk – and found the rock with the hidden key. She put it back after pushing the door open, and headed back to the car,

  
Jack had swung his legs out but was otherwise losing his fight with gravity to exit the car. He accepted her help in standing up with a muttered “Thanks.” He managed the three steps up to the door on crutches without hesitation. She’d been around for a broken leg and torn ACL before. Who knows what other practice he’d had on crutches.

He headed straight to the kitchen. She pulled a chair out at the table for him. “Sit before you fall. I’ll get a pillow for your foot.” He went down in what was more of a controlled fall than sitting.

  
She’d seen the living room to the left when they’d gone right. A cozy throw blanket was draped across the back of the big leather couch, and astronomy and fishing magazines were scattered on the coffee table. A chess set was on the end table in the corner by the window, ready to play. She swiped a finger across the board. No dust. She grabbed a pillow from the couch and hurried back to the kitchen.

They worked together to lift his leg and get his foot at a comfortable angle on the pillow. “Do you need to take your pill with food?” She emptied the grocery sack on the counter.

  
“Yeah. PB and J is fine. One slice.” His eyes were closed again.

  
“You didn’t buy any bread.” She glanced around the kitchen, looking for a loaf of bread that might not be moldy. The kitchen was as tidy as the living room. If he was gone a lot, maybe he kept a yard service and housekeeper on retainer. A bachelor officer should be able to afford it.

  
Tidy, yes, but with few personal touches. Medals on the mantel above the fireplace, astronomical-themed artwork on the walls, a couple pictures of Jack and his family. Former family. The 8x10 of her nephew in his Little League uniform, standing beside his beaming dad, made her throat constrict. Jack had made the house into a comfortable retreat between missions, but this was clearly not someplace he spent a lot of time.

  
“Freezer. Knob’s already set on the toaster.”

  
She took out a loaf of bread from the well-stocked freezer. While one slice thawed in the toaster, she put groceries away. She opened the fridge, half-gallon of milk in hand, and paused to stare. Devoid of rotting vegetables, mystery meat or containers of leftovers that had become science experiments, the fridge was gleaming, empty except for condiment bottles in the door, a jar of pickles on the bottom shelf, and a six-pack of Guinness. Make that five-pack. “Milk or water with your pill?”

  
“Milk, please.”

  
She retrieved a clean glass from the dishwasher. The sink was not just empty but had been wiped clean. She set his glass of milk on the table just as the toaster popped. From the new jars he’d bought, she smeared almond butter on one half of the slice of bread, marionberry jam on the other, and folded it over and served it on a paper towel. She watched that he swallowed a pain pill, then put away the rest of the groceries while he ate. When she finished, she poured herself a glass of water and sat at the table.  


  
“Like old times.” He gave her a sloppy grin, wiped his mouth with the paper towel, and wadded it up.

  
She took a long drink, swallowing the urge to ask him questions she knew he wouldn’t answer. Would he be okay by himself? Did he have a new wife or girlfriend to look after him? No, she would have picked him up at the hospital. And he wasn’t wearing a ring. Did he still have an elderly, nosy neighbor who’d check up on him? And Jenny was dying to know what he’d done this time to get hurt. Had his parachute opened late again? And for crying out loud, what was a full-bird colonel in his forties doing still jumping out of planes?

  
“Good times,” she said instead. “Let me work you over. Take off your shirt so I can see where the bruises are.”

  
After a moment’s hesitation, he began to unbutton his shirt. She found the bathroom and a stash of fluffy towels, and grabbed two. She picked up the bottle of olive oil by the stove and returned to the table. Jack was just draping his shirt over the back of a chair.

  
She stopped behind him, hand going to her mouth in shock. Nearly his entire torso was swathed in bandages, hip to armpit. “That’s, um, that’s a lot of bandaging for broken ribs.”

  
“Sharp little buggers.” He downed the last of his milk. She refilled the glass. “Nicked a lung, and the spleen. Doc said she rooted around in there for a few hours.”

  
Jenny winced in sympathy. The pill was taking effect, easing the pinched look around his mouth and eyes. Maybe loosening his tongue. “Another rough landing? Chute open late?”

  
He chuckled. “Something like that.”

  
She warmed the oil on her hands and began gentle strokes on the tops of his shoulders, to the base of his skull. Yep, he still kept tension in the same places. She applied gentle pressure in long strokes, working the knots loose.

  
She’d become a massage therapist because she liked to help people feel better but was too squeamish for any medical profession. After a few years and repeated bouts of tendonitis, she’d taken her body’s hint and gone back to school to become a licensed aesthetician. Those kinds of healing strokes were much easier on her hands. These days her massages were gifts to family and close friends, something to keep her skills sharp but not put too much stress on her tendons.

  
Soon after the Air Force had transferred Jack and Sara to Peterson in Colorado Springs, a day spa in downtown Denver posted a job opening, and Jenny had jumped at the chance to live closer to her sister, get to know her little nephew.

  
In addition to their regular get-togethers, Sara would call her when Jack came home injured, grumpy from lack of sleep, chafing at his forced inactivity during convalescence. Jenny would work on the parts of his battered body not bruised or broken, and massage away the tension in his muscles so he could sleep and heal. And save Sara’s sanity. While Jack was sacked out, Jenny and Sara would play with Charlie and giggle and gossip together like teenagers again.

  
There. Another knot loosened. She moved on, interspersing soothing long strokes with deep pushes into tight knots. Jack started to lean forward, falling in slow motion. She made sure the towel on the table was folded and placed correctly to cushion his forehead. She snagged a chair with her foot, pulled it closer and sat down, working her way down his left arm. He gave her hand a quick squeeze of gratitude when she reached his fingers, then went lax, letting her massage each knuckle. By the calluses on his finger pads she could tell he still played guitar. He used to play and sing silly songs for Charlie in the evening, soothing lullabies at bed time. Once she’d arrived at the house unexpectedly and stayed silent out on the front porch so she didn’t interrupt him serenading Sara with a love song. The big bad Special Ops officer had the heart of a romantic and a rich tenor voice. If her sister hadn’t seen him first, she might have made a play for him herself. That heart-melting smile of his, those dimples…

  
But then she’d have been the one dealing with his long absences, sometimes with no more notice than a thirty-second phone call to say he wouldn’t be home for dinner … for the next week or more. He couldn’t talk about where he went or what he did while he was gone, and maybe they were better off not knowing. Sometimes when he got home he’d hold on to his wife and child as though they were his only lifeline to sanity. And humanity. Each mission it seemed to take him longer and longer to lose the haunted look in his eyes.

  
She’d have been the one dealing with the silent, stoic man in the face of tragedy, so emotionally constipated that that single gunshot had killed their child and eventually their marriage.

  
Jenny rested his left hand in his lap, warmed more oil and moved back up his arm, across his shoulders, and down his right arm. He still had the slim build and sleek, toned body of a much younger man, a man of action. He’d taken up swimming after his first knee injury, a way to stay in shape without putting stress on his joints. Did he still swim five miles a day?

  
Calluses on his right hand were for a trigger finger and who knows what other weapons. She suppressed a shudder.

  
There were no nicotine stains on his fingers, and his nails were short but neat. Had he finally managed to quit smoking? She hadn’t seen any ashtrays in the house, and the only scent that clung to him was the faint antiseptic aroma of the hospital. He’d tried to quit several times over the years she’d known him, the first time right after Sara found out she was pregnant. When he relapsed, Jack had taken to only smoking outdoors. Many times he and Jenny would go out on the back porch and light up after dinner. She’d learned to appreciate their long comfortable silences, and the deep philosophical conversations that belied his jokester image.

  
She’d been tobacco-free for almost a year now. She’d dated a yoga instructor who’d helped her find the motivation to get in better shape and through the worst of the nicotine cravings. Alas, their relationship was doomed. He was a vegetarian and she liked her steaks rare.

  
She was giving Jack last sweeping strokes across his shoulders, making sure she hadn’t missed any knots, when they heard a car pull up in the driveway and doors slam shut. “Expecting company?”

  
He grunted and sat up, blinking blearily. It would have been so easy for him to go to sleep right there at the table. He reached for his shirt. She capped the oil bottle and wiped her hands on the towel.

  
Voices from outside became audible as keys rattled and the front door opened. “—can’t just let ourselves in,” came an agitated female voice. “What if he’s asleep?”

  
“Then we’ll put away the food,” came a calm male reply, “and leave him a no—“ The speakers came to a halt at the kitchen doorway. “Hey, Jack!”

  
Jack had stumbled to his feet and thrust his arms in the sleeves of his shirt, and was clumsily fumbling for the buttons. Jenny batted his hands away and did up the buttons for him. His crutches leaned against the counter near the table, so he held onto the back of a chair for support.

  
“Daniel.” Jack’s voice was gravelly as he greeted the young man.

  
Light brown hair brushed the newcomer’s collar, long enough to partially hide blue eyes behind his glasses. He held a grocery sack in his hands, as did the woman beside him. She was wearing a pink floral print top under a denim jacket, but her civilian clothes were belied by her short blond haircut, barely-there makeup, and stiff posture. She was on alert as much as her companion was at ease. It was her expression that really gave her away, though, her bright blue eyes threat-assessing Jenny. Not in a jealous way. More of a protective manner. Hmm.

  
“We stopped by the hospital,” the young man named Daniel said,” but you’d already signed yourself out. Why didn’t you call? I would have picked you up.”

  
Jack shrugged. “Figured you were busy.”

  
The woman shifted her sack. “We thought you’d need fresh rations, sir, so we took the liberty of picking some up.”

  
“Thanks, Carter.” He sounded vaguely surprised. And pleased.

  
Jenny gently nudged Jack’s arm.

  
“Um. Daniel, Carter, this is Jenny.” He glanced down at her. “We, uh, work together.”

  
And that was apparently all the explanation she was going to get from him. Laconic as ever. “You’re military, like Jack,” she said to Carter. The tall blonde nodded. “But you’re civilian.” Daniel nodded. “And you all work together.” Daniel gave a shrug-nod.

  
Okay. They were as tight-lipped as Jack.

  
Jenny’s professional curiosity was piqued. Daniel had a fresh scar on the far right side of his forehead, unremarkable except Carter also had almost-healed cuts and fading bruises on her face. Had they been in the same “rough landing” as Jack, and he just got the worst of it?

  
Carter cleared her throat and started unloading the groceries on the counter, similar items to what Jack had picked out. She put things away unerringly, while Jenny had had a few false starts finding the right cupboards for the non-perishables. Now Jenny realized it was probably this pair that had taken care of the house and yard while Jack was in the hospital. Daniel unloaded his sack too, putting everything away in the fridge or frozen entrees into the freezer, but leaving onion, celery, carrots, and a bag of egg noodles out near the stove. The delicious aroma of a still-warm roasted chicken from the deli wafted across the room as he set it on the counter, reminding Jenny she was going to be late meeting her sister and friends if she didn’t get a move on. She no longer worried about leaving Jack now that she knew friends were looking out for him.

  
“I need to get going,” she said with one last wipe of her hands on the towel.

  
Jack shifted, and she put her hand high on his chest to stop him. “I’ll see myself out. You should lie down before you fall down.” That got her the expected flash of a grin. She stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

  
He gave her shoulders a squeeze, and a relaxed smile warmed his gorgeous brown eyes. “Thanks again.”

  
She had a fleeting moment of regret for the broken ribs that prevented them sharing a proper hug. Jack O’Neill gave the best hugs. When he pulled you close and wrapped you in his long arms, he made you feel safe and protected, that everything would be alright. Even if he was the one who was breaking your heart.

  
“Bye, Jack.” Jenny let herself out, wondering how much of this afternoon she should share with Sara.

*****

  
As the front door clicked shut, Jack grabbed his crutches and hobbled out of the kitchen.

  
“Did you take your pills?” Daniel called after him.

  
“Yes, Daniel,” Jack yelled back. “Going to pass out now.”

  
Daniel was entirely too cheerful with his reply of “Okay!”

  
Jack heard what sounded suspiciously like Carter giggling, but he was too focused on trying to fall onto his bed instead of the floor.

  
Jack awoke slowly, gradually becoming aware of the passage of time from the dark shadows in his room and full bladder demanding relief. He struggled to sit up, not remembering covering himself with a blanket or removing his shoe. Crutches were within easy reach leaning against the night stand, though he thought he’d just let them fall to the floor. He hobbled to the bathroom and took care of business. Ahh. Thanks to the long nap and Jenny’s magic fingers that made it possible, he felt better than he had since tumbling through the gate in Antarctica, though the edges were starting to sharpen again. Time for another pain pill.

  
As he passed the guest room, he poked his head in the door. Sneakers with the laces still tied and balled-up socks were kicked off on the floor in front of the dresser. A familiar battered suitcase was open on the bed, clothing and books spilling out.

  
Jack had a flashback to Daniel’s first night back from Abydos. He’d seemed lost at the SGC, leaning against the wall outside the infirmary, nowhere to go, no one to care what he did. Like he was a lost puppy, Jack had brought him home.

  
When Daniel stayed behind on Abydos, Jack had personally packed up the scholar’s possessions he’d left at the mountain – mostly clothing, photos, and a few scientific journals that had published his less radical theories -- back into that battered suitcase that had traveled to archeological digs around the world. The same suitcase that held most of his worldly belongings when Catherine Langford had picked him up from the lecture hall, emptied of his peers as they scoffed at his crazy theories that the pyramids were older than anyone thought, had maybe been built by aliens. Crazy theories until he’d been proven right.

  
Jack had placed the packed suitcase in a rarely-used storage room on Level 18. On his last day at the mountain, after General West had processed his retirement paperwork, Jack had brought the suitcase home with him and stored it in his attic. He’d almost forgotten about it until Daniel asked to borrow a t-shirt and sweats that first night.

  
Overnight had turned into weeks, and then months. Amazing how long it took to unfreeze bank accounts and get Payroll to bring someone back from the dead. And it was difficult to rent an apartment or buy a car when a credit check showed that you were deceased. He’d been assigned quarters on base, but for a guy who’d spent the last year basically living outdoors, spending his off-time twenty stories deep inside a mountain was tantamount to torture.

  
It had been nice having someone to cook and eat dinner with, watch the game with. They’d hardly driven each other crazy at all. Well, no more than they did at work.

  
Daniel had just moved out again a few weeks ago. They’d emptied his apartment after that fish guy had made them think Daniel had died. At least the Air Force hadn’t got around to disposing of his stuff, just put it in a storage room. Again. They’d left his car in the mountain parking lot, as though it was just waiting for Daniel to drive it home. The landlord had already rented his old place, so Jack pulled rank to get a team of SFs to help them haul Daniel’s stuff from the mountain upstairs into his new loft apartment.

  
The scent of food drifted down the hall. Jack’s stomach growled. He stopped at the kitchen doorway and stared in surprise. Daniel and Carter sat at the table, their heads close together as they studied notes from a recent mission, dirty bowls and Daniel’s laptop pushed aside.

  
“You’re still here.” Yup, Special Ops colonel, couldn’t get anything past him.

  
They glanced up.

  
“Sir!” Carter risked a glance to the top of his head, where his hair was probably sticking up wildly, and tried to hide a smile. He mentally shrugged. She’d already seen him at his worst, most disheveled. What was a little bed head?

  
“Hungry?” Daniel got up before Jack could reply, and turned the cap on under a pot on the stove. “It’s still warm so it won’t take long. Sit.” His bare feet were silent as he moved around the kitchen.

  
Jack sat. Carter lifted his foot and made sure the pillow on the extra chair was under his leg just so. Daniel set the pill bottles on the table within reach, pain meds as well as antibiotics, then went to the fridge. “What do you want to drink?” Before Jack could even draw breath to answer, Daniel added, “No beer. Doctor Fraiser said no alcohol.” He looked inside the fridge. “Iced tea is brewing but won’t be ready to drink for a few more hours. Janet also said no caffeine, so no coffee. Saving the orange juice for breakfast.” He reached inside. “Milk it is.” He poured a glass from one of four half-gallons in the fridge – he’d bought two, so Daniel and Carter must have got the others -- and set it in front of Jack, then went to stir the pot on the stove.

  
“You cooked?” Jack glanced between Carter and Daniel.

  
She tilted her head toward Daniel.

  
“It was a joint effort,” Daniel said without turning around.

  
Jack tried not to show apprehension. In the time his amazing team had been together, Carter had shown a stunning lack of skill when it came to cooking. He didn’t know if it was a defense mechanism to avoid being assigned more “women’s chores” on missions, but he’d never before known anyone who could burn water. She’d replaced the pot she’d ruined when she let it boil dry, distracted by some technobabble she was discussing with Daniel, but from then on when they got together for team nights her contribution was ingredients or pre-made food.

  
Daniel set a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup in front of Jack and handed him a spoon. “There’s bread and butter if you want it, but I figured you’d want to save the carbs for pie.”

  
“There’s pie?” Jack ate a spoonful of soup. Oh, homemade soup was so, so much better than opening a can. When someone else made it.

  
“Apple.”

  
Jack’s eyebrows rose. “You made soup, and a pie? From scratch?” He tried to look over his shoulder at the clock but stopped when his body gave him a painful reminder of the row of stitches like a zipper up his chest. “How long was I out?”

  
“I told you, Sam helped. She’s good with a knife.”

  
Carter shrugged.

  
Jack nodded agreement and went back to shoveling soup in his face. Carter was indeed good with a knife. He’d seen her win a knife fight with a Mongolian warrior chief type guy half her size again, and hit the bulls-eye from fifty yards. Stood to reason she could chop apples and vegetables. Just don’t ask her to cook them. Or try to eat them if she did.

  
Daniel tidied up while Jack took his pills and ate. Carter studiously avoided looking at him. He knew she was dying to ask about Jenny but was too well-trained in military discipline, too deferential, to broach the subject. Daniel, on the other hand…

  
When he’d emptied his bowl, Carter brought clean plates and silverware to the table, and a quart of vanilla ice cream from the freezer. Daniel set the pie in the middle of the table with a serving spoon and sat down. He’d even made a lattice-top weave on the pie. Juices had bubbled out and over the side, and it was still warm enough Daniel set it on a hot pad, the wonderful aroma of cinnamon and other spices making Jack’s mouth water. Daniel cut the first slice and handed it to Jack along with the question, “So, who’s Jenny?”

  
Right on cue.

  
Jack accepted the slice of pie, nodded yes when Carter gestured at the ice cream, and waited for her to drop a scoop on his plate before he took his first bite. Pure bliss. Daniel may be a civilian who didn’t understand or chose to ignore military concepts like chain-of-command, was a pain in the ass sometimes, but so worth it. And a damn fine cook. Though usually he was more likely to cook up some Abydonian dish, or food a pharaoh from the fourth dynasty might have eaten, and sniffed in derision at something as mundane as meatloaf and loaded baked potatoes. Though he didn’t hesitate to tuck in when Jack made it. "Sister-in-law,” Jack said. He took another bite. Mmm. “Ex-sister-in-law,” he clarified.

  
They froze, their spoons halfway to their mouths.

  
Carter was the first to recover. “I thought she seemed familiar.”

  
“Strong family resemblance,” Daniel added.

  
Jenny and Sara were born less than two years apart, and so similar in appearance, with their dishwater blonde hair and green eyes, they were often mistaken for twins. Jack had almost forgotten that the team had met his ex-wife a few months ago, after the crystal entity took Jack’s form and spent the day with Sara while Jack came back through the Stargate alone and had to prove he was the real O’Neill. Sara had been debriefed and persuaded to sign the non-disclosure agreement to end all non-disclosure agreements. She’d taken the whole thing pretty well, once she got over her initial shock at seeing not-Charlie. Years of practice, being married to a Special Ops officer. She was used to not getting answers for questions she couldn’t ask. 

  
“Ran into her at the grocery store and she offered me a lift home.” Jack tried to eat slowly, to savor each bite. It was so good after weeks of hospital food.

  
Carter ate her bite of pie and stared at his chest. Probably wondering why his shirt had been open when she and Daniel had let themselves in. He could leave it at that, and Carter would wonder but keep quiet. Daniel, however, would press him later. Maybe the pain pill was easing Jack’s usual reticence, but he decided to throw the captain a bone.

  
“Jenny’s a massage therapist. Whenever I came home banged up and got too cranky to handle, Sara would ask her to come by and work me over so I could sleep.”

  
“You? Cranky?” Daniel batted his eyes.

  
Jack thought about flinging a bit of ice cream at him. But that would be a waste of ice cream. He went back to eating pie while he could still find his mouth. The pills Doctor Fraiser had prescribed made things a little wobbly. The edges of his pain were getting nice and blurry.

  
The alarm on Carter’s watch beeped. “Ooh, I have to go,” she said. “I promised Janet I’d come by tonight and help Cassie with a science project.” She grabbed her jacket that had been hanging on the back of her chair. Janet Fraiser had adopted the little girl they’d found on Hanta, the sole survivor of a Goa’uld-induced plague, but they all took very seriously their roles as honorary aunt and uncles.

  
“Give her a hug from me,” Daniel said.

  
“Me too,” Jack said.

  
Carter paused at the kitchen doorway to look back, her expression more open than usual, more Sam, less Captain. “I’m so glad you’re … home from the hospital, sir.”

  
Jack gave her a faint grin. “Me too.” He’d heard her unspoken words during that pause. He knew how close he’d come to dying when he and the captain were stranded in that glacier in Antarctica. How close he’d come to breaking his most important rule, leave no one behind. Until Daniel had figured out how to find them, Jack had come way too close to leaving her behind, alone with his frozen corpse while she slowly succumbed to hypothermia.

  
She gave him another nod, and left.

  
Captain Samantha Carter could probably recite Air Force regulations in her sleep, and was deferential to her superior officers almost to excess. Dr. Sam Carter, PhD, however, often got frustrated when faced with stupidity and didn’t hesitate to tell higher-ups what to do when she knew better, especially when the fate of a planet was at stake. Having been accused a time or two of being a smart-ass himself, Jack admired her ability to come right up to the edge but not quite cross the line to outright insubordination. Some day, after she’d had a couple beers or glasses of wine, he wouldn’t be surprised if she challenged him to arm-wrestle.

  
He’d long since come to terms with not being the smartest person in the room. He was clever and had his strong suits, but was smart enough to know he didn’t know everything. Working with the Wonder Twins and an alien who had decades of experience in commanding armies, Jack’s ego survived intact because he remembered that what he was good at was getting other people to do what they were good at, and making sure they were safe to do it.

  
Jack finished his pie and ice cream, contemplated a second serving, and decided he didn’t want to risk it coming back up. Pain pills could be unpredictable. “So, Daniel,” he began instead. “What’s with the suitcase? You draw the short straw?”

  
Daniel dished another scoop of ice cream onto his plate, put the container back in the freezer, and sat back down. “Sam wanted to stay, despite what base gossips might make of it, but I reminded her she already took a turn taking care of you.” He ate a bite. “Teal’c wanted to come but General Hammond said he couldn’t be allowed off the base with you this long, while you’re still at least partially incapacitated. So.” He shrugged. “Me.”

  
Jack noticed the warm sensation spreading in his chest, and almost reached to touch his forehead, check for fever. Funny, he could accept a medal in front of an auditorium full of people with equanimity, but the thought of his team discussing his welfare and how they wanted to contribute to it affected him much more.

  
He could have called Carter and she would have dropped everything to come get him at the hospital, but he didn’t like throwing his rank around that way. Daniel would have come running, too, and actually seemed a bit hurt that Jack hadn’t called him. When Doctor Fraiser released him from the hospital she’d offered to have an airman drive him home, but he’d insisted she call a taxi for him instead. He needed a few minutes to be anonymous. Alone.

  
For the two weeks he’d been at the hospital at Peterson since being transferred from the Antarctic glacier to McMurdo and then back to Colorado, there’d been a steady stream of visitors to his room. When nurses and doctors weren’t poking and prodding him, it seemed everyone at Cheyenne Mountain from Sergeant Siler to General Hammond had stopped by to wish him a speedy recovery.

  
He’d kind of expected Pierce and other SG team leaders. Feretti had brought him a radio so he could listen to games not broadcast on the hospital’s very limited cable channels. Makepeace had come to grouse about how nuts Jack was for having a civilian, a female, and an alien on his team. Makepeace and his Marines were apparently okay about meeting people from other planets but it didn’t go so well having one temporarily assigned to their team. Carter and Daniel were back at work but on light duty, both still recovering from a concussion. Teal’c’s symbiote had healed him quickly after their rough trip through the gate, and Hammond had thought to make use of Teal’c’s knowledge. And maybe broaden Makepeace’s horizons if not his mind.

  
Of course Jack’s commanding officer would put in an appearance. Despite their rough start, Hammond was turning out to be a damn fine CO.

  
But what really surprised Jack were the eggheads from the science departments, and staff from the infirmary, the armory, and the SFs that stopped by to see him. Even grandmotherly Betty from the commissary, who had once slapped his hand when he’d tried to snag a dessert that wasn’t out yet, had brought him a piece of cherry pie, smuggled in her purse that could double as luggage.

  
And his team… his team had come every day, individually and together. He’d drift off in mid-conversation and wake to find Daniel and Carter still there, quietly playing cards or discussing theories way over his head, or explaining some Earth pop-culture thing to Teal’c, who had inexplicably taken to wearing a ten-gallon straw Stetson to conceal his First Prime tattoo when he left the mountain.

  
When General West had recalled Jack to active duty for a crazy project at Cheyenne Mountain, Jack had been in a dark, dark place after his son’s death. Leading a team of soldiers and a nut job geeky civilian through a standing puddle of water in a stone ring to another planet didn’t even faze him. That it was most likely a one-way mission was fine by him.

  
But the people of Abydos, and the geek scholar, had wormed their way into the organ he thought had died with his son. It took a while, but he found reasons to get up each morning. Moving out, getting divorced, and buying a new house had been like cauterizing a wound. Painful but necessary to get on with healing. When Hammond had recalled him he was ready to put on his uniform again. Lead a team again. His had to be the oddest team ever assembled – a civilian archeologist, a military astrophysicist, and an alien warrior. But it worked. They worked.

  
Jack had long ago realized how important the SGC had become to him. But until this near-death experience and subsequent outpouring of well-wishers, he hadn’t truly grasped that he was important to the SGC. As Jenny had so subtly pointed out, he still struggled to accept assistance, to let his team -- his friends -- help him. Slowly he was learning to let them in. He wasn’t surprised they’d come to his house to visit, but to buy him groceries? And cook for him?

  
Jack cleared his throat. “You know they’re sending a home health nurse to check on me every day, right? Change the dressings and whatnot.”

  
Daniel glanced up from beneath his lashes, mischief sparkling in his blue eyes. “Well that, that’s good. I don’t mind changing bandages, but no way in hell am I giving you a sponge bath.”

  
Jack grinned. “I think we can both agree that’s a good thing.”

  
Daniel turned serious again. “But a home health nurse won’t be here long enough each visit to make sure you eat well or get enough sleep. So you can heal quickly. Get back out,” he pointed upward, “there.” He dragged his spoon through the detritus on his plate, studying the pattern of crumbs and melted cream like they were tea leaves, holding the secrets to the future.

  
Jack rested his hand on Daniel’s forearm. “We’ll find her.” He stayed there until Daniel looked up at him, saw his sincerity and determination. Jack would move heaven and hell to help Daniel Jackson find his missing wife. Charlie may be gone, but Sha’re was still out there somewhere.

  
Daniel rested his fingers atop Jack’s for a long, quiet moment. The clock on the wall seemed loud as the seconds ticked by. Abruptly Daniel gathered dishes from the table and rinsed them in the sink. He took a moment to adjust his glasses. “So, we have a couple hours before you need to go to bed. Want to play chess?”

  
Jack leaned back in his chair and adjusted his foot on the pillow. Wondered if he had any wire coat hangers so he could give his leg a good scratch inside the cast. “Nah. Pills are making me fuzzy.”

  
“Gin rummy it is, then.” Daniel disappeared into the dining room and soon came back with the deck of cards, notepad, and pencil from the drawer in the china cupboard.

  
“I have a bedtime?” Jack good-naturedly groused as Daniel shuffled the cards. “You’re going to be a nag, aren’t you?”

  
Daniel dealt the cards, grinning. “Whatever it takes, Jack. Whatever it takes.”


End file.
